


To Live for the Day

by tristesses



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Figging, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Laurence mopes, and Tharkay provides a distraction. Post-<i>VoE</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Live for the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 6/14/2010 for the Kink Bingo prompt "painplay (other)". Title taken from the Alestorm song [Nancy the Tavern Wench](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sp6vqtO57I4), which has little relation to Temeraire but is awesome nonetheless.

Tharkay had long since solidified his estimation of Laurence's character: stubborn, honorable to a degree that seemed almost thickheaded, proud, yet loyal to his crew and to his friends, and - although Tharkay doubted Laurence would much appreciate the description - tender-hearted nearly to the point of fault; his devotion and love to those closest to him (Temeraire, of course; Granby; Jane Roland and her daughter; and now, much to his surprise, Tharkay) were strong and unflinching. Tharkay had never had reason to begrudge Laurence any of his traits; in fact, he was thoroughly charmed by them. However, when Laurence took it upon himself to mope around the dragondeck, not for a short while but for months, disturbing Temeraire as well as his friends, Tharkay found his damned nobility irritating. Irritating and worrying - perhaps the latter emotion caused the former. Regardless, Tharkay resolved to do something about it, although as to what, precisely, he was at a loss.

"He's driving me mad," Granby said frankly, joining him one night at the railing while he watched Laurence read quietly to Temeraire. "I've never known him to get so stuck on an impossibility."

"No," Tharkay agreed, voice low. Laurence wanted nothing else so much as to have things back the way they were, prior to his act of treason; whether he had acknowledged this to himself was something Tharkay couldn't say. "It is most unlike him."

"If only he could get off this ship, next time we put in to port," Granby said, then hesitated a moment. "Or if he could be distracted, somehow."

Tharkay glanced sidelong at him; his fair skin was flushed to the hairline, and he had a measure of grog clutched in his hand, perhaps to bolster his strength. Aviators were generally laissez-faire in matters which, among other men, would merit a hanging; this evidently didn't make men like Granby any more comfortable with their implications.

"Ah," said Tharkay, rather sardonically, "and by means of my...unique relationship with Laurence, I should serve as the distraction?"

Granby sputtered, while Tharkay watched dispassionately. He was terribly easy to bait, nearly as much as Laurence, but doing so didn't give Tharkay the thrill he felt when he caused Laurence to blush and lose his words - now _that_ was quite different a thing - although Granby did have his moments.

"I - that is to say - without casting aspersions - well, yes," Granby finished, somewhat lamely, and looked down into his cup, as if the murky brew would give him the ability to save face.

Tharkay looked out at the sea. Black, and still; there were only the barest smatterings of foam skimming the crests of the tiny waves. Behind him, Laurence's voice, reading, and Temeraire's much louder comments. Granby was silent beside him, and if Tharkay chose to close his eyes, he could almost make himself believe he was somewhere better than here, on a prison ship bound for New South Wales, with Laurence.

"I see the merit in your suggestion," he said at last, "and will endeavor to think of a way to put it into action. Good night, Captain."

Unable to resist a last little dig at Granby, he stressed the title, although Granby had often and with varying degrees of chagrin asked him to call him John. Striding belowdecks, he sequestered himself in his cabinet of a room, leaving the door open a crack, so Laurence may join him if he wished; he arranged himself on his berth, without properly undressing, and propped his chin on his hands in consideration.

Four days later, when the _Allegiance_ had docked in a cramped, run-down port, to replenish her supplies of beer, food, and liquor, Tharkay ducked into a small marketplace, established primarily to provide sailors with the items they wouldn't want marked down as a part of the ship's manifest; it carried exactly what he needed.

 ****

. . .

Laurence leaned against the railing, his usual position to watch Temeraire and Iskierka frolic in the sea, some distance from the ship; Tharkay joined him, and received a cordial nod of greeting, and a slight smile, infinitely more intimate. Tharkay returned this with a look much more heated than the earliness of the afternoon called for, but Laurence did not react much, except to raise a questioning eyebrow at Tharkay, and, when not immediately answered, he turned back to the sea. Ah, so one of his non-communicative moods, then; Tharkay lowered his eyes to his hands, the better to contain the affection and annoyance he was sure would have been easily readable in his gaze.

He allowed the silence between them to stretch out an inordinate amount of time, past the point where Laurence would have found it acceptable to say some nicety and walk away, then shifted closer to Laurence, near enough to speak in whispers, and close enough to have covered his hand with his own, had he wished to do so. "I believe the dragons will be able to manage unwatched for a while; should we retire to my cabin?"

"Perhaps," Laurence replied, seemingly startled by the non-sequitur, "but what for?"

Tharkay blinked, and temporarily reassessed his evaluation of Laurence's intelligence; there were subtleties to Tharkay's eye, and then there were subtleties to Laurence's, and Tharkay was not being particularly subtle by anyone's estimation.

"I would find it pleasing," he stressed, "if you would accompany me to my cabin, Laurence."

"Oh," said Laurence, in comprehension, and then blushed faintly, and added, quietly, "Now, Tharkay? I don't object, certainly not, but it is unusual, in the day."

"A habit borne from caution, more than anything," Tharkay said blithely. That much was true, although Tharkay didn't think they were taking any great risk; should any sailor on the _Allegiance_ 's crew choose to take issue with it, they would have to address their concerns to Temeraire. It seemed an unlikely prospect, so Tharkay continued, "If you wish to come with me?" and took his leave from the deck. Laurence hesitated a moment, then followed him down.

Tharkay's cabin was very small, but large enough for their purposes, and, more importantly, private; as soon as Laurence had shut the door and latched it, Tharkay turned and kissed him, gripping his shoulders a little too tightly; he had of course been aware of Laurence's moods, but not of how tense he, himself, was, and this kiss, Laurence's hands (one tangled in his hair, the other working to untuck his shirt), were things he had been craving, especially like this, against the wall and in broad daylight; a break in routine far beyond the ordinary.

The kiss was violent, and eager, and Tharkay tilted his head to lick his way inside Laurence's mouth, tongue on teeth and teeth on lips, and pressed Laurence into the door until Laurence made a small, throaty sound and lunged forward, biting Tharkay's lower lip hard and yanking his head back to nibble at Tharkay's pulse, pounding wildly in his neck; Tharkay bit back a curse and a shiver of pleasure - no matter how much he saw Laurence like this, felt him, had him, he would never get used to it, never take it for granted - and said, "Laurence - "

"What?" And Tharkay, taunted by the sweet curve of Laurence's ear, licked along the tender shell until he reached his earlobe, and sucked it gently, rewarded by Laurence's quick intake of breath and the way he cursed, "Tharkay - "

"Our boots," Tharkay pointed out, without needing to say anything more; one of the most infuriating parts of spontaneous encounters was wrestling with one's boots at the moment of highest tension, an experience they had had together previously.

"Right," said Laurence, "of course," and he fell with little grace upon the bed. Tharkay followed, considerably more elegant, and pried his own boots off with aplomb.

He had intended to go and get the first of his purchases while Laurence was still occupied, but Laurence had other plans; he wrapped his arm around Tharkay's waist and threw him off-balance, pulled him to the bed, and rolled half on top of him, his smile positively wicked. Tharkay was suffused with a skin-prickling heat, and when Laurence dragged his tongue along his clavicle, it was all Tharkay could do to keep from trembling, as Laurence was; he could feel it.

"If you insist on my staying put," he said, a little too roughly for his tastes, "then go and get me that sack, there, and a small knife."

Laurence raised an eyebrow, and said in a tone both musing and faintly alarmed, "This sounds promising," and did as Tharkay bid, but not before pressing one more searing kiss to Tharkay's mouth. It left him flushed and weak, and Tharkay recalled with dark amusement his first romantic liaisons, as an adolescent; he found the feeling comparable.

"Here you are," said Laurence, and deposited the sack and a sheathed knife on the bed beside Tharkay. Tharkay hummed his thanks and sat up, then extracted the item from the sack. "What on earth?"

The root looked like nothing so much as a small, withered hand, with enormous, swollen fingers; Laurence stared as Tharkay cut one such protrusion off and set to peeling it, with precise, economical movements.

"If you wish to sit there and stare at me," he drawled, casting a slanted glance from under his lashes at Laurence, "by all means, do so; but I would rather see you undress."

Laurence made a garbled sound of assent, and began unbuttoning his breeches with haste. Though Tharkay would have liked to watch, he instead turned his attention to the root, which was beginning to take shape under his hands: a narrow tip slowly thickening to a small but stout neck, with a flared base; not a scrap of its original skin remained.

"An intriguing repurpose," said Laurence, now stripped bare, as he sat by Tharkay, peering quizzically at the root. "But what - "

"It is ginger root," said Tharkay, and offered his fingers, coated with the root's secreted oils, to Laurence. He took them into his mouth, all four, tongue laving at the pads of Tharkay's fingers, and Tharkay pressed his hand deeper inside; Laurence's eyes flicked up to meet his, and Laurence leaned forward, wrapped his lips around Tharkay's hand and sucked until the oils sank into his skin; the burn made his eyes widen, and he gagged a little on Tharkay's fingers, but Tharkay only withdrew slowly, spreading his fingers to part Laurence's lips, smearing Laurence's spit on his own chin. Laurence let him, breathing haggard and eyes dark, dark and blue and wanting. Tharkay, with no little pride, thought it a very good look on him.

"You see?" he asked, and Laurence licked his lips and replied, hoarsely,

"It burns." His eyes fell to the root, held loosely in Tharkay's other hand, and Tharkay presented it to him.

"I thought you may be interested," he said, deadpan, and proceeded to divest himself of clothes, rather than leaving them rumpled and only half-on. Laurence studied the root, turning it over in his hand, and when Tharkay re-situated himself, sprawled on the bed, Laurence had a distinctly devilish gleam in his eye.

"Yes, you thought correctly," he said, and moved between Tharkay's legs. He pressed Tharkay's thighs apart, and Tharkay allowed his legs to splay. He wondered what sort of expression was on his face, whether it was depraved and desirous, as he felt, or his usual calm mask. He suspected the former; Tharkay knew himself to be an excellent actor, but there were limits to even his abilities.

"Will this not hurt?" Laurence asked, and Tharkay shut his eyes briefly with anticipation at the thought, a wry twist to his mouth.

"I should say that is the aim," he pointed out, and spat in his hand to reach down and grasp his prick, stroking it firmly to hardness, without taking his eyes off Laurence.

"Ah," Laurence said, and seemed too overwhelmed to say much else; not that he needed to, for he grabbed Tharkay's hips and pulled him closer, the better to see him spread open before him (his grip rough, rough enough to have left bruises on a fairer man than Tharkay), slicked his fingers in the oils at the base of the root, and traced his index finger along the rim of Tharkay's entrance, then pressed inside; Tharkay let his head loll back at the feeling, Laurence inside him, then another finger, and another, until Tharkay, used to it though he was, was panting and circling his hips in an attempt to force Laurence to thrust, harder. His hands were fisted in the blanket, though he didn't realize it.

"Laurence," he said huskily, as Laurence withdrew; then he took the root, and, glancing at Tharkay with a burning gaze, began to work it inside him.

Tharkay inhaled, sharp, and repeated Laurence's name, then bit his lip and remained silent, flushed all over, trying and failing to repress shivers, until the root was inside him to the base, warm and tingling; then Laurence leaned close, and blew lightly across the taut skin of Tharkay's prick. He clenched around the root, involuntarily, and hissed as the oils seeped into his flesh; hot, they almost burned, and when Laurence lightly rubbed the side of his face along Tharkay's shaft, the burning intensified, and Tharkay couldn't keep himself quiet - "Oh," he said, choking back a moan, and took a great gulping breath, and held it until Laurence put his mouth around Tharkay's prick, wet and hot, unutterably tantalizing, and Tharkay burned from the inside and jerked his hips while Laurence murmured encouragement; the vibrations of his voice were difficult enough to endure for long on their own, but the ginger multiplied the exquisiteness of the sensation by a hundredfold, the pain vivid and intense but delicious for that very reason, as delicious as the hollows in Laurence's cheeks when he sucked hard before releasing from Tharkay and licking along the crown, tonguing the slit -

Tharkay thrashed, and made embarrassing, desperate noises, his back arched and his mouth hanging open. Laurence chuckled and slid up, so he was entirely covering Tharkay with his body.

"Laurence - Laurence, _do not stop_ ," Tharkay said violently, and Laurence put his knee between Tharkay's legs and nudged the base of the root, making Tharkay spasm underneath him, muffling his cry by biting down hard on the thick muscle between Laurence's neck and shoulder.

"Does it hurt? I hope it does," Laurence said, in a low, intense voice, and mouthed along Tharkay's neck, nipped at his jawline.

"Of course it does, you bastard," Tharkay snarled, and then moaned wantonly as Laurence ground his hips against Tharkay's, their aching cocks rubbing together; Laurence settled himself between Tharkay's legs and began a rhythm, a thrusting, stuttering rhythm, panting hard, nuzzling his head against Tharkay's chest; by this point Tharkay had been driven completely wild, inundated with the twin sensations of pain and pleasure, and was bucking against Laurence, out of sync with his movements; he dragged Laurence to his mouth by the hair and kissed him, sloppily and open-mouthed, and Laurence gasped suddenly and tensed, and Tharkay said, or perhaps yelled, or sighed, or groaned, " _Will_ \- "

 ****

. . .

"I am fairly certain half the ship knows of us, now, with the way you carried on," Laurence said comfortably, nestled at Tharkay's side.

"Yes, because we've been enormously subtle until now," Tharkay drawled. He was sore and stiff, and still tingling a little from the ginger oils, although the root had long since been removed and rinsed. "Laurence, if Captain Riley has noticed - which I am sure he has - the entirety of the crew must be aware, unless they are particularly unobservant."

He draped an arm over Laurence's shoulders - where, he noted smugly, he had left myriad bite marks - and allowed himself to relax, stretched languorously across the tiny bed.

"I expect Granby knows, then," Laurence said thoughtfully, and Tharkay snorted. The mention of the other captain had reminded him of Granby's awkwardly-made suggestion; one that, if the soft smile on Laurence's face was to be any guide, was entirely successful. Of course, the ginger root could remain a tempting distraction only for so long; they still had months to go, and Tharkay would have to invent another such diversion before long.

The _Allegiance_ suddenly rocked, then again, and indistinctly Tharkay could hear the familiar clamor of dragons boarding the ship.

"Oh, it is Temeraire," said Laurence, sitting up automatically.

"I had noticed," Tharkay said dryly, and, rolling out of the bed, began separating his and Laurence's clothes from the tangled pile on the floor. "I believe this is yours."

"Thank you." Laurence accepted the shirt and pulled it on, as Tharkay wrestled with his boots. Above them, Temeraire's smug voice was informing Iskierka about the particulars of mating, in quite plain English; a look of dawning horror grew on Laurence's face as Temeraire spoke, and he hurtled out of the room after hopping into his breeches and boots, hopefully to prevent further damage to his sense of propriety. Tharkay, after a moment, and with a slight lift to his eyebrow, rose and followed; but that would never be unusual.


End file.
